Friday night date night usually consists of the soft sounds of jazz music, wine, a home-prepared gourmet meal, and more wine. Tonight’s menu consisted of grilled lamb chops, seasoned with a rosemary mint dry rub drizzled with a reduced port wine sauce. The meat was paired with a tempranillo wine from the Rioja region of Spain. I sprinkled the asparagus stalks with extra-virgin olive oil and seasoned them with salt, pepper, and garlic powder; grilled al dente. Sourdough bread with a balsamic vinegar dipping sauce marked our only carbohydrate with dinner. We talked and laughed, enjoying the carefully prepared meal,chatting with each other of the past week’s events.
As I hand washed the grape-leaf designed plates in the sink, a cold air mass jolted my sense of balance like a sheet of paper blown off a table on a windy day. Prickles of energy rushed through my veins, tightening and lifting the hair on my arms and neck. My eyes darted over the granite counter top,past the caramel kissed walls, searching for those familiar chestnut eyes. She sat on the center of the brown couch cushion at the opposite end of living room, fixated on a section of carpet in front of the round wooden coffee table. She was motionless. Hoping to divert her attention, I asked from the kitchen, “More Wine?” Nothing. No response only means one thing… she already saw them.
The Black Lab and German Shepherd jumped into her lap, trembling as they do when Fourth of July fireworks explode outside. Under different circumstances I would think the scene was comical, seeing two 70 lb dogs sitting on her lap, but laughter eluded me now.
“Look,”she mentioned plainly. “The dogs know they’re here,” she said as she held them. Her round freckled face, normally covered in a smile, held a blank expression. There was no visible emotion. Groups of people, invisible to my eyes, were surrounding her.
It’s not the first time she’s seen them. Actually, it’s a somewhat of a common occurrence. Just last week, we went out to the back patio for a cigarette. She refused to sit down in the sling fabric chairs surrounding the glass patio table. Instead, she stood a few feet away from the overhang. When I sat, she chuckled, “You just sat on Jake.” The dimples in her cheeks acknowledged the humor in the sighting. But this evening’s events were different. It felt bigger, even more powerful than other visits. She was affected. I was affected. Nothing about this was natural. There was a coldness in the air that I couldn’t explain, see, or hear. All I know is I wanted them gone.
Please go away. Please go away, was the only thought I could muster. We sat silent, side by side on the chocolate fabric of the oversized couch, our wine glasses full of Zinfandel. My heartbeat thumped in my jugular, “Tell them to leave.” My voice was stern, but surprisingly steady. In my peripheral vision, I watched as her lips curled and moved while she spoke to our new guests. No sound came from her mouth. I tried to ignore her. Adrenaline surged through my veins, cascading a rise in my blood pressure.
“Tell them to leave!” a throaty growl escaped my tongue, stronger than the last warning. My stomach curled in knots. My heart pounded. My limbs began to tingle. Anxiety overwhelmed my senses. I can feel them. They’re taunting me while they blow their cold breath in my face. I hate them.
“Tell them to leave my home!” I yelled as though a trapped demon had escaped the dark side of my soul. Sweat beads perforated my forehead. My chest tightened and heaved. My head pounded with each breath. Her eyes were hazed, only a distant stare that looked beyond me,or through me, I couldn’t tell which. She gave a solid, low-toned response, “No…They’re here to protect me.” It was then that I noticed my knuckles were bloody along with a fist-matching hole in the living room wall. I prayed for Archangel Michael to protect her….but I never dreamed it would be from me.
-RA Dolence, 2014